


The Saké Games

by Aja, nqdonne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: inception_kink, Drinking Games, Drunkenness, Frottage, Humor, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nqdonne/pseuds/nqdonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inception team plays Never Have I Ever, Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes In Heaven, one sake bottle at a time. Arthur is in denial about Eames, Eames makes out with everyone, and Saito plays matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saké Games

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 2010 in the inception_kink round two meme. Written in response to a prompt of drinking games--spin the bottle, specifically. Aja and I extrapolated from there and did three drinking games for the price of one: Never Have I Ever, Spin the Bottle, and Seven Minutes in Heaven. I don't know *why* we gave each part a Hunger Games inspired subtitle, but the third one makes me giggle ridiculously, so who cares! 
> 
> All of the above pairings are make-out only or implied sex, except for Arthur/Eames, which is the primary pairing.

**Part One: The Sake Games**

Sake, Arthur decided, was evil. And, by extension, was Saito, for bringing the sake.

“Never have I ever cheated,” Ariadne said, lips quirked in a smile.

“On a person or on a test?” Eames asked.

“Test,” answered Ariadne

Arthur smirked. “Cheating on a test means you’d actually have to have had a proper education, Eames, ” he answered, swirling his glass.

Eames winked at him. “Never underestimate what you can learn in a bar, love,” he said, and drank.

Arthur, of course, did not drink. Academic dishonesty was so... pedestrian.

Yusuf drank, and Cobb took a tiny sip. Saito just smiled beatifically. Arthur stared at the contents of his glass and did not think about what kind of life lessons Eames could have picked up in bars.

Ariadne directed a pointed look at Arthur, to her left. “Your turn.”

Arthur riffled through a mental catalogue of any number of things he could say, most of which would disqualify himself and probably saddle him with looks of gleeful curiosity from Eames for weeks. Ariadne had obviously set up this game just to rattle them all, but she was so earnest and puppy-dog about it none of them had the heart to say no, and the moment Saito got behind the idea it was a lost cause.

“Never have I ever... “ Arthur hesitated.

“Oh, come on, darling, you can’t be that corrupted,” Eames said genially from across the room, holding up his glass of sake like he’s prepared to drain it as soon as Arthur speaks.

Only the slightest twitch of his brow betrayed Arthur’s annoyance. If only Eames knew the things that went through Arthur’s head. There was no way in hell Arthur would give him the satisfaction of getting drunk at his expense. Arthur would show him, that smug British bastard.

“Never have I ever smoked weed,” Arthur blurted, and _fuck_ , everyone drank, including and especially Eames, who smoothly drained his glass in one long gulp. (Arthur didn’t watch his throat as he swallowed.) And now Arthur felt very uncool, and rather stupid.

Yusef smacked his lips, licking the sake off them. “Seriously, Arthur? You’ve never danced with Mary Jane? That’s...”

“Sad?” Eames suggested. Then he muttered, “Probably more like dancing with MJ in your case, no, darling?” and toasted Arthur, who glared at him. Eames traced the rim of his glass with his tongue, then licked his lips. “Don’t feel bad, darling, it’s cute that you’re so sheltered, really.”

Arthur clenched his glass and resisted the urge to send him a look communicating just how sheltered he wasn’t. Ariadne just smiled slyly and patted his arm as if she could tell what he was thinking.

Next it was Cobb’s turn, and he had the most wicked smile on his face. Arthur braced himself for further humiliation. Ironically, he wished he were drunker... but the whole problem was he hadn’t done any of these things _so he couldn’t drink._

“Never have I ever performed an extraction while... under the influence.”

Cobb drank. So Eames, Yusef... Saito?! Jesus fucking Christ, _who were these people_? Arthur trusted them with his life on a regular basis, and they were doing drugs beforehand?

Well, it did explain why Eames’ breasts had been lopsided on that last job.

Arthur sputtered and shared a glance with Ariadne, who looked at least as appalled as he felt. Now it was Yusef’s turn, and already being pretty much three sheets to the wind, Arthur wasn’t expecting much.

“Never have I ever parachuted into Sri Lanka while narrowly avoiding grenade launchers,” Yusef slurred, and drank. Grumbles spread throughout the circle, the annoyingly specific offering leaving no one but Yusef sated.

“You lot are boring me,” interjected Eames, next in the circle. He lifted his glass and toasted the room. “Never have I ever shagged a bloke. And loved it.” Then his eyes locked on Arthur, and he drained his glass.

Arthur swallowed dryly, trying not to look at Eames’ throat when he swallowed, trying to think of any reason at all to look away. The warehouse was suddenly stuffy and too hot, and he hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt, tugging at it, before he realized how it might look. He chanced a glance up and sure enough, Eames was still watching him. His gaze on Arthur’s was intense, not like the usual way he would roam over Arthur’s face and his body, casual and throwaway and constant. There was nothing throwaway about this look.

Arthur broke the stare and brought his glass to his lips as casually as possible. He took a sip, and then another, and did not, would not, look back at Eames. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eames deftly grab for the sake bottle, refill his glass, and drain it again. _Christ_ , Arthur thought.

“Now it is my turn,” said Saito, with more composure than Arthur thought possible for a man who had drunk on nearly every question. In fact, he almost sounded gleeful, and Arthur felt a sudden sense of deep foreboding.

“Never have I ever felt a quietly simmering longing for a member of the team,” Saito said. Then he smiled beatifically at everyone.

“What?” Yusef said, furrowing his brow, as if that would help him think better.

“Our good friend Mr. Saito wants to know if anyone fancies fucking another member of the team, darling,” Eames supplied a translation, eyes once again locking on Arthur’s. Arthur found himself wondering who he’d actually meant to address. Darling, indeed, and, oh, god, he was not nearly drunk enough for any of this to be happening.

His hand flew to his pocket, and he fingered the loaded die there. Shit. This was real. He looked around to see if anyone else was as thrown off by this as he was.

And then everyone drank.

Jesus. It was like slow motion, no one looking at each other, everyone’s gazes unfocused--except for Saito, who was benignly staring at each one of them in turn, and then--Eames. Of course, Eames, whose eyes never left his.

Arthur wanted to drink. It was the honest thing to do. But he couldn’t bear the embarassment of Eames _knowing_. Unless...

Arthur shifted his gaze to Ariadne, and drank. There, he thought, ignoring the uneasy twist in his gut. That would show Eames, and maybe they could put this stupid drunken charade behind them once and for all. He sent her a tiny smile and nursed his glass. Ariadne raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Arthur suddenly felt grateful and stupid and guilty. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ariadne, but he also knew she wasn’t raising her glass for him.

When Arthur finally let himself glance back at Eames he was stung. Eames’ jaw was tight and his eyes were narrowed at Arthur, and the pulse point at his temple was throbbing. Arthur felt his stomach drop.

“Never have I ever,” Eames said suddenly, the loudness of his voice echoing in the warehouse and startling everyone, “been in total denial about my sexual impulses and fucked around with somebody else’s emotions because I’m a stunted little boy.”

There was a shocked silence while he eyed them all defiantly. Then Saito smiled a private smile and drank. Arthur stared across the circle at Eames, and did not.

“Aren’t you going to drink, darling?” Eames ground out the ‘darling’ like he was chewing on nails. To his left Arthur could feel Cobb tensing, and he felt his own face reddening.

Beside him Ariadne laughed and raised her glass. “Alright, alright,” she said. “You got me!” and drank. Arthur sent her a grateful look and then felt shame churning in his stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off at Eames or himself. He looked over at Eames again, and found him rolling his eyes at them both.

No, he was definitely more pissed at Eames. Fucking Eames.

“Never have I ever strutted around like a cocky son of a bitch,” he heard himself saying, “saying stupid shit just to annoy the hell out of everyone around me.” He hadn’t meant to yell, but he couldn’t help it. He glared at Eames defiantly.

“Go ahead, love, take a drink,” Eames shot at him.

The fucking bastard.

“This is bullshit,” Arthur snapped, and slammed his glass down on the nearest workbench.

“You guys are totally going out of turn,” Yusuf slurred, and nervous laughter broke out around the group.

Arthur’s face burned with humiliation. Or maybe the sake was taking effect. He couldn’t bear to let the situation spiral any further out of control than it already had. “Fuck this,” he swore, pushing his chair back. It toppled over; the clang reverberated through the warehouse.

“If only you had the balls, love,” Eames muttered savagely behind him.

Arthur slammed the front door as violently as he could. 

**Part Two: Kissing Fire**

Nothing like a bit of corporate espionage to take people’s minds off of embarrassing drunken mishaps. Arthur had simply turned up to the warehouse the next day, hair and suit immaculate as always, and not in the least bit hung-over (thank you very much), and pretended nothing had happened. When Ariadne and Cobb tried to pull him aside for a talk, he found something to engross himself in and avoid their eager puppy dog eyes. He didn’t need a father or sister figure to counsel him.

It also helped that Eames had buggered off to who-knows-where for weeks, showing up just days before the extraction. It was a quick and relatively simple job. Arthur was on point with the research, Ariadne designed a lush jungle scene, Saito funded the operation... and Eames did his very best impression of a Brazilian supermodel. Arthur had very little to do with him, and everything was fine.

Except that Arthur spent pretty much the entire mission staring daggers into Eames’ back (his bare, string-bikini’d, lotion-smooth back) and resisting the urge to shoot him in the head. Or the backside (just for fun).

So when they emerged, job well-done but all exhausted, and Saito pulled out the sake, they all gladly imbibed. Arthur finished off half a bottle by himself, spurred on by the memory of Eames in his supermodel body, smirking at him with his arrogant eyes, the only thing about him that had remained exactly the same. Why the fuck not?

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” Ariadne giggled.

Ok, _that_ was why the fuck not. Arthur groaned.

“Fuck, yes,” Eames said enthusiastically.

They were seated around the circle of chairs leftover from the game of Never Have I Ever a month earlier. Arthur had his chair tipped back, well away from kicking distance and well away from Eames. There were a few chairs between them, and Yusuf sat next to Eames. The wider the gap the better, Arthur thought.

“I’d rather we not...” Cobb tried to assert, but Ariadne, Eames and Yusuf loudly over-ruled him. Arthur quietly grabbed a stray glass of abandoned sake and sucked the whole thing down. He would leave now, but refused to give Eames the satisfaction. They passed around the sake until the bottle was nearly empty; then Saito wiped it clean with his handkerchief and took the first spin.

The bottle landed on Eames.

“Fuck, yes,” Eames said again, grinning broadly.

Saito, for his part, said nothing, but he traded seats with Ariadne without a word and placed his hand on the back of Eames’ chair. There was a quiet smile in his eyes when he leaned over.

Arthur felt his jaw clench.

He probably should have looked away, but by the time he realized that Eames probably wanted him to watch this, it was too late. Saito cupped Eames’ chin in one hand and kissed him gracefully on the mouth, Eames hovering poised for a moment without moving. It was almost hypnotically slow. And then Eames let out a noise that was almost a gasp, put both hands on Saito’s shoulders, and proceeded to shove his WHOLE DAMN TONGUE down Saito’s throat. Arthur bit his bottom lip and tried not to look like he cared. Because he didn’t. And he definitely didn’t care about the way Saito’s thumb was stroking along the underside of Eames’ jaw, down the side of his neck, or the way Eames was shifting in his chair and squirming closer. That shameless slut.

He poured himself a new glass of sake. He didn’t care how it looked.

After a few more moments of gratuitous wantonness, Cobb cleared his throat firmly. Well. At least Arthur wasn’t the only red-faced onlooker. Eames and Saito broke apart with a final, almost intrusively intimate flick of Eames’ tongue against Saito’s lips, and Arthur shivered.

“That was lovely, Mr. Eames,” Saito said smoothly, sitting back in his chair as if they’d just exchanged a handshake. Eames just nodded in response. He looked a bit dazed, and Arthur should have been grateful there was something or someone that could throw him off his cocky little game. Instead he just felt a deep and coiling resentment.

“Um,” said Ariadne. “Um.” Then she practically leapt across the circle to grab the sake bottle and give it a spin. 

It landed on Eames. Again. She grinned and traded seats with Saito again. Eames looked like the cat who caught the canary, and Arthur wanted to punch him.

“Hey, Eames,” Ariadne said, smirking up at him.

She had to tilt her head back to meet his mouth, and even though he looked like he was still in recovery from kiss number one, he grinned back gamely and said, “Hello, Ariadne,” drawling out the syllables of her name like a caress before covering her mouth with his own. It started out gentle but soon escalated, Ariadne grabbing Eames by the nape of the neck and pulling him in closer, threading her tiny fingers through his dark hair and sliding her tongue inside his mouth with a faint moan. Eames dropped his hands to her waist and kept them there. They looked enormous just holding her steady while she moved against him, and Arthur had to take another drink before he thought too hard about what those hands felt like, whether they would be firm or trembling if they touched--

He drained the glass.

After a few more seconds, Eames pulled away from Ariadne, smirking. They looked at each other and then shared a laugh between them, which, impossibly, made Arthur even more annoyed.

“Your turn, boss,” Eames winked at Cobb, who flushed as red as Arthur’s face surely was.

“I think we’ve had enough fun for one evening,” Cobb tried to deflect. His voice was a little wobbly.

Eames shook his head in disagreement. “I have definitely not had enough fun. Ariadne, have you had enough fun?”

“Absolutely not.” She hiccoughed. “C’on Cobb. T’s funnnnn.” Then she squeezed Eames’ thigh and gave Cobb an exaggerated wink.

Beside Eames, Yusuf giggled, and Cobb broke into a smile.

“Come on, boss,” Eames said, detaching himself from Ariadne and moving over to sit beside Cobb. This unfortunately placed him next to Arthur and gave Arthur a ridiculously unnecessary view of his broad back and his shirt tight across his shoulders. Also his ass in those jeans.

He was out of sake. This game was ridiculous.

Resignedly, Cobb spun the bottle. It landed on Eames.

“What the hell!” Arthur exclaimed before he could stop himself. Everyone looked over at him as if they were noticing him for the first time all evening. Fuck, why wasn’t there more sake?

Eames turned around and gave him an even look. “Jealous?” he said, voice dropping into something darker that Arthur had no intention of analyzing. He dug into his pocket for his die and saw Cobb and Saito doing the same thing.

“Is this your dream, Eames?” he snapped, tossing his die onto the floor next to the bottle. “Knock it off.” Then Cobb’s top fell over noisily onto the floor, and his die landed on six.

Eames shrugged. “Guess the universe likes me,” he said grandly. “A lot.”

Then he turned his attention back to Cobb as if Arthur’d never spoken, and Arthur realized that was almost the first time Eames had spoken at all to him on this job outside of the actual extraction.

Eames’ lips quirked when he leaned in to Cobb. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” he said.

Cobb rolled his eyes and looked a little sheepish. “I’m not made of glass, Eames,” he said.

“God, I hope not,” Eames murmured, smiling, and kissed him.

The surprising thing was that Eames actually was gentle. He tucked a hand under Cobb’s lapel, maybe for leverage, since even sitting down Cobb was maybe a head taller than anyone else in the room, but otherwise he was still, barely moving except to press his lips lightly against Cobb’s.

Arthur felt cool glass being pressed into his hand. Saito, the saint, had found him another bottle of sake, and now Arthur couldn’t even be mad at him for the way he’d been all over Eames. Not that it _mattered_.

He felt Yusuf’s eyes on him, and when he looked up Yusuf sent him a smile of understanding--Arthur refused to call it pity. Yusuf was strikingly sober for all the alcohol they’d been passing around, and Arthur remembered that this was why you couldn’t underestimate anyone on the team--they always saw more, knew more than you wanted them to. He took a grateful sip of alcohol and closed his eyes for a long moment. Cobb and Eames were making gentle smacking noises to his right, and Arthur contemplated finding one of Ariadne’s drawing tools and impaling himself on it.

He heard the shift in the chair next to him when their kiss ended, and then it was Arthur’s turn. Arthur reluctantly took the bottle and positioned it on the floor at his feet. _Not Eames, not Eames, not Eames_ , he chanted to himself, because even if spin the bottle was a stupid game for tenth graders, he was _not_ going to have his first kiss with Eames take place in public while drunk out of his mind.

And then he thought about what it meant that he’d assumed a first kiss, or any kiss at all, and had to spin the bottle before he went into some kind of drunken apoplectic hyperventilation and vomited all over his shoes. They were really nice shoes. _Not Eames_ , he thought at them defiantly, and then his stomach dropped because the universe had heard his plea and stopped the bottle at Cobb’s feet, and now Arthur was never going to get to kiss Eames, and Arthur hated the universe a lot, but not as much as he hated Eames for flirting and winking at him and pouting at him like a porn star all the time and wearing tight jeans and open-collared shirts that let Arthur catch glimpses of his tattooed shoulders and calling him “darling” and not meaning it and not kissing him.

And Cobb! Was like a father to Arthur, which made this all kinds of wrong, but Cobb _wasn’t saying anything_ , just blushing, and why was everyone _cheering_? Next to him Eames, the bastard, sensed Arthur’s hesitation (or complete mortification) and sniffed. “No worries, darling,” he said, moving across the room. “The boss is an ace kisser.”

Arthur was very proud of himself for not punching Eames. His self-control was amazing. Ace, he thought. Ace my ass, Arthur would show him ace. He was totally fine, this was totally fine, and he would only peck Cobb---HOLY CHRIST WHY WAS COBB ON TOP OF HIM?

Cobb’s mouth was swollen from kissing and Arthur didn’t want to think about that, but it didn’t stop him from wondering if the faint aftertaste of sake he took from Cobb’s tongue had come from Eames’ mouth first. Cobb seemed to have forgotten all about the part where he was Arthur’s platonic father figure, unless he thought it was part of his platonic fatherly duty to give Arthur a lap dance, and Arthur wound up clutching on to Cobb’s thighs just to keep them both from toppling over backwards. And that of course was a straight ticket to realizing just how massive and muscle-filled Cobb was all over, how those thighs were roughly the size of small trees, and how once Cobb got going he was, oh, Christ, really good at shifting against Arthur so their--

“Alright, enough,” Arthur heard someone say, far away, in a world that wasn’t full of Cobb’s tongue, and he felt Cobb being pulled off of him abruptly, the sudden absence of warmth and weight leaving him bereft and head-spinningly dizzy. When Arthur opened his eyes, he saw Cobb and Eames facing off against each other, eyes narrowed to slits and jaws tight. Had Eames pulled Cobb off Arthur? That made no sense.

“What happened to being gentle?” Cobb said, looking as shocked as Arthur felt.

Eames traded a look between Cobb and Arthur, his eyes wide and his lips tight, and Arthur thought, wait, _what_ \--?

“Alright, bitches, it’s my turn!” Yusuf jumped up from his chair and grabbed the bottle. God bless Yusuf for perfect timing. Eames looked between them again and then turned away with a huff, and Arthur blindly reached for his bottle of sake again.

Cobb sat back down beside him, and for a minute they sat awkwardly next to each other without a word. Then Cobb cleared his throat and said stiffly, “Um, so, yeah,” and laughed.

Arthur tried to join in, but apparently he was a dry-and-bitter kind of drunk instead of the giggly touchy-feely kind of drunk, and his voice was stuck in his throat, just like his gaze was stuck on Eames’ hunched form across the room. Eames had his chin in his hand and the smug expression from earlier in the game was gone. And then Arthur missed him because Ariadne was in Yusuf’s lap in the middle of the floor and--woah, how had Arthur missed that? He didn’t even know if they’d actually waited for the bottle to stop spinning. Or maybe that was just his head.

He took another swig straight from the bottle of sake. He was going to regret this in the morning, but at least he hadn’t had to kiss Eames. Yep. That would have been awful. Horrible.

When his brain cleared enough to see over the whirlwind of PDA from Ariadne and Yusuf--Yusuf had tucked his hand at the base of her spine, and she was curling into him with soft sighs that should not have sounded as lewd as they did--Arthur saw Eames disappearing out the door with Saito hard on his heels.

Oh, Arthur thought.

The ache in his stomach was back. He was starting to think it wasn’t from the sake.

**Part Three: Cockingjay**

“Oh, my _God_ , Ariadne,” Arthur said, letting his voice drip with all the disdain he’d been storing up for the next time the team attempted to rope him into stupid adolescent drinking games.

“What? It’s not like everyone has to watch. You’ll be in a closet.”

“Who, Arthur?” Eames broke in. “Repressed and miserable? Never.”

Arthur didn’t even bother glaring any more, just turned back to the designs he was working on for their next job. For all Cobb’s attempts to keep things low-key, they were getting jobs faster than they could schedule them these days, and at this rate the group drinking was going to land them all in rehab.

“Please, Arthur, “Ariadne said, putting the puppy-dog pout into her voice. Arthur turned and scowled up at her. She just grinned at him and said, “Yes, I knew it,” and squeezed his shoulder.

And that was how Arthur found himself letting Saito wordlessly slip a bottle of sake into his hand. Great, Arthur thought, he’s not even bothering with a glass, just skipping straight to the alcoholic enabling.

“So how does this thing work again?” Arthur asked in an exasperated breath, before raising the bottle to his lips and taking a long draw.

“We put everyone’s name on a slip of paper into this hat. Each turn, I draw out two names, and those two go into the closet for seven minutes.” Ariadne sent him a narrow look. “You really didn’t have a typical college experience, did you? No weed, no drinking games...”

“College? Try grade school,” interjected Eames with a saucy grin.

“I hate you both.” Arthur drank some more sake and tried not to look at Eames, who’d been largely brusque and closed off since last month’s fiasco. Except for the usual, the pet names and the winks and everything else that drove Arthur crazy without mattering at all.

“Just for your sake, love,” Eames said, taking a swig of sake without looking at Arthur directly, “I’m putting your name in twice. You need it.”

“Were you born this much of a jackass,” Arthur said calmly, deliberately examining his fingernails, “or do you practice perfecting the art in your spare time?”

“I’m hurt, truly,” Eames said with an exaggerated yawn.

“Oh, hey, look, I drew two names!” said Ariadne with forced eagerness.

Into the closet went Cobb and Eames. Cobb cast Eames a thoughtful look, and spared another one over his shoulder for Arthur before he went inside. Arthur shook his head. “I’m going for some air,” he told Ariadne. She frowned up at him. Fine, he thought. Fine, I’ll play your stupid party game. “Call me if you draw my name,” he said, and managed to dredge up a half-smile from somewhere before he stepped outside.

The warehouse could have been any warehouse in Paris; the alley behind it was as good a place as any to sit on the curb for a smoke or a beer. Arthur didn’t smoke, but he used to come out here with Eames while he did, watching Eames in his rolled-up sleeves, nursing a Chesterfield and exhaling through lips whose contours Arthur didn’t know he’d memorized.

And then one day Eames had called him “Darling” and brushed his lips against Arthur’s cheek in passing, faint like a whisper, and things had been spiraling out of Arthur’s control ever since.

“Lost in thought, Arthur?”

Arthur turned. Saito was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, leaning against the frame and watching Arthur in that quizzical, contemplative way he watched everyone. Having Saito around had been a bit unnerving at first, because Arthur wasn’t used to having someone on the team who could read everyone else on it at a glance. Usually Arthur only drew conclusions about people after he’d shared dreams with them. Saito could probably tell you exactly what your dream would be before you ever closed your eyes.

He’d never been in a dream of Eames’ that wasn’t for an extraction, he thought. He didn’t think he really wanted to, but he still felt a little empty at the thought. 

Saito came and sat beside him on the pavement. “It’s been a long month for you, hasn’t it?”

Arthur looked over at him and shook his head. “Sometimes everything feels like limbo,” he said after a moment. It was as deep as he was willing to get without a full bottle of sake warming his head.

“I think you and Mr. Eames have been fighting for some time,” Saito said. He steepled his hands together and balanced them on his knees. Arthur remembered him drinking when Eames had called Arthur a confused little boy. He couldn’t imagine Saito being confused about anything.

“Fighting,” he said. “I guess.”

“Regarding the last ill-advised group game played in this warehouse,” Saito said calmly, as if Arthur hadn’t spoken, “I think you should know that Mr. Eames is a brilliant kisser--” Arthur looked over at him, appalled, but Saito continued, “but that’s all I know about him.

“What?” said Arthur.

“I could never do such a thing to anyone I called a friend,” Saito said gently.

Arthur blinked. “But... he wanted it,” he said in confusion.

Saito tilted his head and gave Arthur an open, interested look. “To you,” he said simply.

“Oh,” Arthur said, and then he got it.

Oh.

“I... thank you, Saito,” he said, and then Ariadne popped her head around the corner and told him that he and Eames were up next.

Arthur finished the rest of the sake in a gulp. Then he nodded to Saito, who wryly wished him luck, and went to sit in a closet for the next seven minutes with the guy he was probably totally in stupid fucking love with.

When Arthur walked inside, he found a glib British lunk leaning against the closet door, looking predictably smug, and even more predictably gorgeous. “Hello, darling,” Eames said. “Shall we?” His tone was the same as always, but his eyes were searching Arthur’s face. Arthur swallowed and walked past him into the closet without a word.

Eames hesitated before he entered. Of course, Arthur thought. Of course when it came down to it, after all the months of cockteasing and flirting, Eames wasn’t into this -- he was all talk and no show. And Arthur wasn’t surprised, not remotely, but he still felt like he’d been drop-kicked and set on fire.

“Let’s get this over with,” he snapped at Eames, who finally came inside the closet and shut the door. A moment later he heard the clack of Ariadne sliding the bolt home, and tried to adjust to the darkness, to the dim light coming from the PASIV machine and the glow of Eames’ wristwatch.

They stood silently for a moment, Arthur stiff with tension and trying not to notice how rigidly Eames was preserving the distance between them. Then, after about thirty seconds, Eames muttered tightly, “You could just relax and try to have a good time, you know, love?”

“Is that what you and Cobb did?” Arthur snapped before he could help himself.

“Oh, no,” Eames said, his fists clenching. “You don’t get to play jealous, pet, not now, not about that.” Then he exhaled on a long, heavy sigh, and added, “Or anything, really.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur gaped at him. “You’re one to talk about playing. Teasing and prodding and poking fun for months, playing a game of, ‘let’s fuck around with the repressed gay one because it’s all such a big joke, isn’t it?”

Eames stared at him. “What?”

Arthur crowded into his personal space, words spilling out for what felt like the first time in months, as if he’d tamped down feelings he hadn’t even known he’d had until now, and couldn’t stop the overflow once he’d started. “Oh, _darling_ , aren’t you pretty today,” he said. “Oh, _love_ , your ass looks so edible in those jeans, you know you love me, _pet_ , oh, won’t you be a dear and help zip my dress, and while we’re at it, let’s make out while we wait for the mark to arrive, because it doesn’t mean anything and it’s all a fucking dream anyway, isn’t it, love?” Arthur was shaking, hands clenched in fists at his side. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? You’re such a fucking tease, and I hate you so much for it. I hate that you think you can just fuck around with these things like toys you can pick up and put back down whenever you want.” He took a shaky breath. “My _life_ is not a toy, Eames.”

Eames was gaping at him, at once apparently lost for words. After a moment, he found them. “Is that really what you think of me? That I’m just fucking around with you?” And then he actually _laughed_. “Darling, you’re an idiot,” he said, and leaned in.

Arthur jerked away from his touch. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he said. “I’m not doing this with you, not now. Not here.” He bit down hard on the words, “Not ever.”

Eames stared at him. “Fine, then,” he said. “Fine.” He sat down on the stool by the PASIV machine. “If you won’t hash this out here, let’s go somewhere else.”

And then he jammed the sedative into his arm.

“Jesus!” Arthur yelped. “Fucking— _Eames_ , goddammit,” Arthur cursed under his breath, shaking Eames, who was already instantly asleep. When Eames didn’t budge Arthur tried the handle to the closet. It wouldn’t open. “Goddammit, Ariadne, let me out!”

“Um, can’t. It’s kind of... stuck,” came the muffled response. Then she giggled and Arthur nearly kicked the door. Then he settled for kicking Eames. The closet was too narrow to do more than jostle the stool a little bit. Eames didn’t wake up.

“Oh, for the love of god,” said Arthur, and followed him down.

 

The world Arthur plunged into was not at all what he expected. It had a pool, and tiki-torches, and palm trees, and Eames lounging poolside, wearing nothing but a palm-tree adorned pair of swim trunks and sunglasses. It was dusk, and Arthur could hear the crash of waves upon a distance beach. Everything seemed a little muted, a little fuzzier due to the alcohol swimming through his head--everything but Eames, who stood out sharp and focused against the haze of color and sunlight.

Of course he looked delectable. Arthur rarely saw him with his shirt off, but now Eames was literally spread out before him, there for the ogling. His body was miles and miles of smooth hard muscle, tattoos adorning his shoulders like garlands of ink, fine hair trailing down his stomach to his cock; and Arthur, for once, allowed himself to look, to wrap his eyes around the bulk and the curves of Eames’ erection--because of course his staring was making the smarmy bastard hard.

“What the fuck, Eames,” he said once he managed to tear his gaze off Eames’ swim trunks. “Why are we here?”

“Nice to see you too, darling. Much nicer here, don’t you think? Cool breeze, good drinks, pool boys.”

Arthur refused to take the bait. “I feel like I’m chasing a fucking two-year-old,” he snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Eames raised his eyebrows at Arthur and swung his arms behind his head on the lounge. “Me, love? I’m not the one who can’t even take a little flirting in good fun without instating a bloody detente. And don’t act like you’re surprised I knew the word detente.”

Fuck, if Arthur didn’t find that incredibly sexy, the way the word fell from Eame’s lips. His red, warm, perfectly sculpted lips. But he was still furious, and somehow being that turned on and that angry just made him that much more angry. And turned on.

“Is that what you call flirting? Jamming a needle into your vein like a junkie just to get me down here on some kind of fucked-up ego trip?”

Eames sat up and gave him a long, intense look. “No, darling,” he said. “I don’t call this flirting.”

Then he reached out and put his broad hand on Arthur’s thigh. Arthur froze. Eames looked up at him and slid his hand straight up Arthur’s leg to his hip, his palm thrumming with a heat Arthur could feel through his trousers.

“I call this seduction,” Eames said, and he tugged Arthur down and kissed him.

Eames didn’t give him a chance to resist--he fisted both hands in Arthur’s hair and kept him there, and God, it was wonderful and amazing and everything Arthur had wanted for so long. He let Eames tug him down until he was sprawling artlessly over Eames’ broad chest, his erection digging into Eames’ hip and his arms splayed over Eames’ shoulders. Eames kissed gritty and smooth, plying Arthur’s mouth open by slow, insistent degrees. It felt nothing like the way Arthur had seen him kiss other men. He tasted like sand and dirt, like cigarettes and sake, and Arthur wanted everything, he wanted to do everything. He let himself touch Eames the way he’d fantasized about for too long to remember, palming whole handfuls of warm muscle and smooth skin, running his hands over Eames’ chest and cataloguing the sensations and sounds through a fog of pleasure and alcohol.

“Fuck you,” he said, and then, “Fuck, Eames,” and kissed anywhere he could reach, Eames’ chin, his jawline, his throat. Eames’ hands were roaming over his back, tugging off Arthur’s jacket and finding the thin cotton of his shirt beneath, and Arthur could definitely feel an answering erection digging into his abdomen. He fidgeted closer, wanting to tell him just to rip the jacket in half if he needed to, anything, just, _more, please_ \--

And somehow it was that thought that made him pull away.

Eames let out a ragged gasp when he did, as if Arthur had just sucker-punched him. Arthur shifted up so their hips were no longer locked together, even though it nearly killed him to break contact. “So,” he said. “You happy now? I want you, I’ve wanted you for fucking ever. So--you know, you’ve won your game or whatever you call it.”

“Arthur, do you ever actually listen to yourself?” Eames said, leaning up and snaking his hand around Arthur’s waist. Arthur struggled, Eames tried to pull him down again, and they wound up side by side on the lounge, Arthur’s hand beneath Eames’ elbow. “Do you--how can you say you know what I want when you obviously don’t know the first thing about me?”

“You’re a _forger_ ,” said Arthur. “I’ve seen you do con jobs hundreds of times. You think I don’t know how you try on dresses and clothes and faces and _people_? You think I haven’t seen you do it? It’s all about the game for you, and if you think I’m dumb enough to fall for it then--well.” He took a breath. “Obviously, as you’ve just shown, I am that dumb. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” said Eames in his most withering voice, “shut _up_ , shut up right now,” and he kissed Arthur again before Arthur could protest.

Arthur gave into the kiss, responded before he could stop himself. “Did you just hear anything I just-- _oh_ \--said?” he tried. His anger was possibly undermined by the way his fingers were carding through Eames’ hair.

Eames cupped Arthur’s chin in his hand and slid his thumb under Arthur’s jaw, stroking. Arthur almost made embarrassing noises. “Have _you_ heard anything _I’ve_ said?” Eames muttered against Arthur’s mouth. “Ever? In the whole time, all the months and months we’ve been side-stepping this, it never occurred to you that I _might actually be queer_?” He broke off and kissed his way down Arthur’s throat, tipping his chin back for better access. “The blonde bombshells and the penchant for seducing men during the dreams, that never rang any alarm bells in your thick head? Nothing? Really?”

 _Oh_ , Arthur thought through the haze of Eames pressing kisses over his collarbone.

“And have you looked around?”

“What?” said Arthur, squirming closer and trying to give Eames as much access to all his parts as possible, preferably all of them at once.

Eames pulled away, pointed at the poolboys and the lifeguard and the poolside bartender. “Look familiar?”

Arthur squinted at Eames’ projections. The poolboy -- tall, thin, dark hair... suit? Lifeguard -- seated on his chair poised over the water, no less -- was long, lean, had dark hair and was wearing a suit. Same for the bartender.

All of Eames’ projections... looked like _Arthur_.

“Oh.”

“Indeed, darling.” Eames pulled away, just far enough to meet his gaze. “The jobs aren’t just about the game,” he said fondly. “I’m fucking mad about you, you moronic tosser.”

“Oh,” said Arthur.

“Oh, thank God, he gets it,” said Eames, pinning him down against the bed.

Arthur blinked and looked around. They were in a bedroom, sprawled out on a king-sized bed with plush, ridiculously-high-threadcount sheets. The door to the closet stood open, and in it Arthur saw line after line of suits. He stared. Eames bent over him and worked his way down Arthur’s throat. “Don’t look so surprised, darling,” he murmured. “It’s all of it for you.” He paused at the buttons below Arthur’s collarbone. “And the important thing to remember, love, is that this is a dream, and you have extras.”

“Wait, what?” said Arthur, and then Eames ripped his shirt open, buttons flying in all directions. The sound of expensive fabric ripping made Arthur whimper, but Eames silenced him with his mouth over Arthur’s.

“Wait until you see what I have in store for your trousers,” he muttered, sweeping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and letting his hands roam over Arthur’s chest. Arthur shifted and arched into the touch, curling his tongue into Eames’ mouth. He wondered if it was too soon to tell Eames about maybe being in love with him, maybe having been in love with him for years, and settled for getting a good rub off instead. Eames was taking his time, lazily stroking Arthur’s chest and sweeping his hands over Arthur’s stomach, but his erection ground steadily against Arthur’s thigh, and even drunk and giddy and relaxed, Arthur wasn’t going to last long at that rate.

“Saito said you didn’t do anything,” he said. “That night.” He kissed his way up Eames’ jawline to flick his tongue over his ear. Eames shuddered. It was delicious. “I hated you for that,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Stop that,” said Eames, shifting closer and locking his thighs into place around Arthur’s, and, oh, god, that felt amazing. “None of that matters. None of them matter. Only you. I thought you might snap out of your fucking bizarre, passive-aggressive denial shit. But, fuck, you’re stubborn. And dense. I’d say blind, but you know how to pick a fucking hot suit, so I’ll give you that one.”

Eames kissed his way down Arthur’s abdomen, pausing to hover over the waistband of his pants. “However, I will say that you kissing Cobb was pretty damn hot.”

Arthur couldn’t resist murmuring, “Of course it was. Did you think two couldn’t play, Mr. Eames?”

Eames looked up and flashed him a grin. “Never underestimated you for a second, dearest,” he said. Then his brow furrowed. “Cobb, on the other hand. Him I wanted to deck.”

“And then there was Saito,” Arthur said, shifting and twisting, tugging open his trousers and pulling off Eames’ trunks to help things along, because _really_ , they might have had an extra ninety minutes down there, but Arthur wanted at least eight orgasms to make up for lost time. When he looked down, Eames was actually blushing, and Arthur added, “You slut,” trailing his fingers over Eames’ cheek.

Eames grinned again. “Says the man who’s got everyone on the team half-in love with him.” He flicked his tongue over Arthur’s navel and tugged his pants down over his ass. Then he cupped Arthur’s cock through his briefs, and it felt so good that Arthur almost forgot to ask:

“Does that include you?”

“Of course not, darling,” Eames said, tipping Arthur’s hips up so he could lave at Arthur’s cock through the fabric of his Y-fronts. “More than half, you beautiful idiot.”

“Ah,” said Arthur. “I didn’t--I didn’t know that.”

“Really, I never would have guessed,” Eames said, humming the words around Arthur’s hard-on.

“You can fuck me now,” said Arthur.

“I’d love to, darling,” said Eames, tugging Arthur’s underwear the rest of the way off. He took Arthur’s cock in his mouth and Arthur nearly came on the spot from sensory overload. It had been so fucking long since anyone had done this to him, let alone anyone he really wanted--and he wanted Eames so much it hurt. Now that they were finally _there_ , Arthur understood just _how_ fucking much he’d wanted, how much every day he hadn’t had Eames had borne down upon him like the pressure of a bullet striking just shy of the heart. He threaded his fingers through Eames’ hair and shifted, trying to steady his breathing, to make it last.

“So how do you want it, love,” Eames asked, planting soft kisses on Arthur’s cock, then his upper thigh, then his hip. “Missionary, doggy style, reverse cowgirl?” He smirked.

“All of the above?”

“Cheeky! But choose one. We’ll save the rest for reality.”

Arthur shivered at the thought. It felt pretty fucking amazing as it was, and that included being totally drunk off his ass _and_ dreaming. If Eames ever sucked his cock sober, he might not survive. “Okay, nice and simple,” he said. “Missionary.”

Eames looked up at him and smiled what was possibly the sunniest smile Arthur had ever seen. It almost dared him to return it, but Arthur refused to crack. “For now,” he conceded. “Save the kinky stuff for when we’re not three sheets to the wind.”

“Oh, darling, that’s never stopped me before,” Eames winked, licking a long luxurious stripe of Arthur’s cock, then lowering his mouth over the head and following with the flat of his tongue. Arthur made an entirely new set of noises that he intended to strenuously deny later on, and Eames laughed, warm and lovely all around him, before pulling off. “I’d love to make you come like this--keep you here all day, just on the edge.” He shifted and hooked Arthur’s legs up and over his hips. Arthur squirmed down into the sheets. Eames leaned up, smoothing his hands gently over Arthur’s ass and thighs, looming there above Arthur, the muscles in his chest flexing and shifting, and Arthur could have come just from _looking_ at him.

Arthur thought about the two of them getting stuck down there, staying there for ages, how Eames could touch him and fuck him and look at Arthur the way he was looking now, and it wouldn’t get boring at all. He thought about limbo and Cobb and Mal and having decades to do nothing but be with someone you loved.

He thought he got it, finally, how another human being could drive you mad with longing, even after a lifetime.

But all he said was, “Hurry up.”

“Best part about my dream?” Eames said, grinning down at him. “Magically appearing lube.” And just like that he had a tube in hand. He uncapped it deftly and brought a slick finger to Arthur’s ass. It didn’t take much to prepare him; it was a dream world, after all, and Arthur’s mind was fuzzy from the sake and sedative. A few more moments and he felt the thick head of Eames’ cock nudge against him, then push inside.

And _god_ , Arthur hadn’t been fucked like this in so long... or fucked, period, but now the stretch and the burn ran up his spine like fire; he arched up, pushing himself further onto Eames’ cock. Eames made a noise like a satisfied growl and shifted, and his next stroke landed home and struck lightning all along Arthur’s nerve endings. “Oh, god, do that again,” he said, and Eames gave him a look that was almost grateful.

And then he did do that again, and then again, and soon Arthur was writhing like a marionette tied to all Eames’ strings, Eames pumping Arthur’s cock with every thrust, and Arthur couldn’t believe this is where they were after so long, that things could suddenly be this easy after so many months of impossible, stupid want. The idea flashed through him suddenly that he should check his totem once they woke up, but he pushed it away and focused instead on the bright, breathy sound of Eames saying, “Oh, _oh, darling_ ,” when he came, tremors ricocheting all through Arthur’s body, rocketing him into his own orgasm. Eames stroked him through it, still thrusting shallowly inside of him; then he bent down to kiss Arthur’s mouth open, swallowing Arthur’s gasps as he came down from the rush--

\--Arthur opened his eyes, still gasping.

He was nearly blinded by bright light spilling through the open door.

“Oh!” Ariadne’s voice registered some surprise. Arthur peered down at himself and over at Eames, also just coming awake. They were slumped against each other, needles in their arms, sweat plastering their clothes to their bodies. Honestly, Arthur knew they both looked as if they’d had the best sex dream of their lives. Which wasn’t wholly inaccurate.

“Did you two... really? You couldn’t just make out?”

“Trust me, what we just did was one fuck of a lot better,” came Eames’ smooth tenor from beside Arthur. “Wouldn’t you agree, Arthur, darling?” Arthur tensed reflexively. Then he realized Eames was linking his arms around his waist, one hand trailing over the bony planes of Arthur’s wrist.

“I knew it!” shouted Yusuf from outside the closet. Ariadne snorted in laughter. Eames reached up and ruffled Arthur’s hair, smiling up at Arthur like a delighted five-year-old when Arthur tried to recoil (because Arthur was not five). His arms tightened around Arthur’s waist, he looked up at Arthur adoringly, and, really, Arthur might as well have counted his lifelong dedication to personal appearance as lost forever. Arthur settled for rolling his eyes and trying not to blush.

“Now,” said Eames, pulling the needle from his arm, shifting Arthur off of him gently, and hopping up from his stool. “You guys will never believe it -- the _orgasm_ was the kick. How bloody amazing is that?”

Arthur joined Eames outside the closet, doing his best not to look like someone who cared that he’d just been caught out thoroughly shagged. “It’s not like we can all have sex every time we want to wake up,” he countered.

“Speak for yourself,” Aridane said, grinning impishly at Yusuf. Oh, jeez.

“Um, yeah,” Cobb coughed nervously beside them. “Kind of knew that, myself.”

Arthur threw up his hands. “I work with a bunch of drug-addled, depraved lunatics!”

Eames stole his hands around Arthur’s waist again and stood close. “And that’s why you love us, darling,” he said, lips brushing the side of Arthur’s neck. Arthur leaned back against him and wrapped his fingers around Eames’ wrist, allowing Eames to whisper secrets against his throat; allowing himself to trust, for once, that he was totally understood.

Which was how Saito found them moments later, when he reappeared in the doorway, beamed at them all, and asked:

“More sake?"

_End_


End file.
